Page 90 of Duke of Wickedness
Not that he managed to get any decent sleep here, either.
“If you don’t want to see me in my dressing gown,” David said, taking a sip of scotch, “don’t come into the private areas of my home. It’s as simple as that.”
David had flirted, these past few days, with that age-old strategy of drinking himself into a stupor so that he didn’t have to feel or think about anything. It didn’t work. Mostly, it gave him a blistering headache to accompany all the other terrible things he was feeling. Sometimes, though, if he timed it just right, he would fall into a fitful sleep for a few hours before waking to the horrible headache.
It was all about balance, he kept telling himself. He just had to endure this for now. Until it faded. It would fade.
It had to fade.
“Allow me to assure you that I didn’t want to see any of what I am currently seeing,” Percy retorted, sounding appalled. He snatched the glass of scotch from David’s hand and put it on a table that was too far away for David to reach. He could have gotten up and gotten the drink, he supposed, but it seemed too much effort.
“But,” Percy went on, “someone asked my wife recently if you were well, given that you suddenly vanished from Society.”
David swallowed down the questions he wanted to ask—where had Catherine been? Was she with her sister? How was Ariadne? Was she well? Was she sad?—and instead drawled, “You might have written a note.”
“I did write a note,” Percy retorted. “You did not reply.”
“Huh.” David supposed he vaguely recalled someone bringing him correspondence. He’d put it…somewhere. “Well, I’m fine. As you can see. Go away.”
Percy snorted derisively. “I’m not sure what I’m seeing yet, but you arenotfine. What is wrong with you?”
David looked vaguely out the window, not really seeing anything. It was gray, he noticed absently. Fitting. Both for England and for his mood.
“I’m having a rest cure,” he ventured when he remembered that Percy had asked him a question.
“Jesus Christ,” his friend muttered. There was a beat during which David dared to hope that his friend would just give up and go away, but then Percy said, “Right. Well, whatever this is, you need to stop it. Organize one of your parties, perhaps. That always seems to cheer you up.”
“You aren’t supposed to know about those,” David said. He didn’t manage to summon any real surprise about it, though he supposed that itwassurprising. Paying any mind to this revelation also felt too far out of his grasp to reach for, just like the scotch—and unlike the scotch, it wouldn’t give him any much-needed sleep.
“Oh, please,” Percy scoffed. “Of course, I know. You really aren’t very subtle, though I will grant you that you’ve done a good job keeping your guests’ identities secret.”
He sounded approving, not that David particularly cared.
“Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I’m not going to host them any longer.”
He wasn’t looking at Percy, but he couldfeelthe frown on his friend’s face in the way he paused.
“Why not?” Percy asked gingerly.
David shrugged. “No point,” he said.
Again, Percy was feeling his feelings so loudly that they were practically words, shouted directly into David’s ear. This was something else that David simply did not need. He was trying to getawayfrom feelings.
“What happened, David?” Percy said, sounding genuinely worried. He reached out a hand and placed it delicately on David’s shoulder. “If this is about that woman you mentioned?—”
“Stop,” David commanded, voice hard as he batted Percy’s hand away. “Just—juststop.”
In the periphery of his vision, he could see the way Percy’s hand hung in the air for a moment before dropping. It reminded David of the way he’d reached for Ariadne—too late and too soon—as she’d walked out the door.
It was good that she had left. He had wanted her to leave. He hadneededher to leave. She wanted to marry. He had little faith in the institution overall, but he had an abundance of faith inher. She was perfect. Any man could see that. She would find the one she wanted. Knowing her, she would no doubt be part of that precious, rare group that could find themselves in wedded bliss.
David would have to be a monster to keep her from that, and if there was one thing he’d fought not to be all his life, it was the kind of monster who made others’ happiness impossible.
After a long, long pause, Percy sighed loudly. “Very well,” he said, sounding resigned. That resignation reminded David of Ariadne when she’d finally begun listening, had finally agreedto go. Then again, whatdidn’tremind him of Ariadne? Half his house was ruined, now.
“I will go,” Percy continued, then, with a distinct note of warning, added, “for now.”
David waved a hand at him in acknowledgment. That would be fine. It would be. Because this would pass.
